


talks like a gentleman

by RonnieMinor



Series: floral prints and clashing colours [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Developing Relationship, Dirty Talk, Fluff and Smut, Friendship, M/M, Oral Sex, Protectiveness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-03-07
Packaged: 2017-11-29 06:17:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/683785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RonnieMinor/pseuds/RonnieMinor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They start a relationship the same day they get kicked out of the library.</p><p>(Sequel to: 'some beautiful boy')</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Godbriel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Godbriel/gifts), [pembroke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pembroke/gifts), [koritsimou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/koritsimou/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, biggest of big thanks to Winter, who curbed my urge to write too much fluff, encouraged the porn and generally made this happen. Also, thanks to Pembroke and her fabulous Jehan/Montparnasse tag - she keeps drawing and I keep writing. Credit where it's due to Grantaires, whose ‘Les Hipsterables’ is where this whole thing started.
> 
> Title is taken from 'When You Were Young', by The Killers.

They start a relationship the same day they get kicked out of the library, spending the afternoon strolling through the city together. Montparnasse has an arm slung round Jehan’s shoulders in a gesture that is both affectionate and proprietary, and it only adds to the strangeness of their appearance. To say they attract a bit of attention is an understatement. They’re much too wrapped in one another to notice though, let alone care. 

Montparnasse gets them sandwiches at some point – seemingly legally, to Jehan’s relief – and they eat them in the park, lying side by side on the grass. They have a competition to see who can blow a better smoke ring, only to get distracted by each other’s mouths. Eventually, they move on – but only when it seems like some woman is about to get them arrested for public indecency. 

‘You know, we should probably find somewhere a little more private’, Montparnasse says. His tone is _oh_ so casual, but his gaze is hot enough to make Jehan feel like he’s burning. His abdomen pulls tight with a spike of animalistic _need_ and he’s nodding like a toy dog when Montparnasse suddenly frowns. 

‘That better not be your phone’, Jehan says darkly. Montparnasse gives an apologetic shrug and pulls out his cell. The caller id seems to surprise him. 

‘Who is this?’ he asks, a hint of menace in his voice. ‘How did you get this number?’ There’s silence for a moment or two, then he offers the phone to Jehan. ‘It’s for you’, he says. 

Jehan takes the phone tentatively. ‘Hello?’ 

‘Jehan, thank god!’ Courfeyrac’s voice is full of desperate relief and a touch of panic. ‘Are you ok?’ 

Jehan frowns, his earlier anger coming back. ‘Yeah, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?’ 

Courfeyrac’s laugh is disbelieving. ‘Jehan, you took off _hours_ ago, looking like you were gonna break down any second. We’ve been trying to get hold of you all day, but you left your cell here and we didn’t know where you’d gone. Bahorel and Feuilly even went out looking for you. I mean, if Grantaire didn’t have Montparnasse’s number, I have no idea what we’d have done.’ He takes a breath, like he’s trying to calm himself. ‘We were really worried, ok?’ 

All at once Jehan’s anger disappears, leaving a sick, empty feeling in his stomach. ‘I had no idea’, he mumbles. ‘Shit Courf, I’m really sorry for bothering everyone.’ On the other end of the phone, Courfeyrac sighs. 

‘It’s cool, man. Just… come home, yeah?’ 

Jehan looks up at Montparnasse and thinks about the way his lips feel; thinks about how he wants to know what the rest of Montparnasse feels like. Then he thinks of his friends, wondering where he was the whole day; wondering if he was ok and not being able to contact him. ‘Ok, I’ll come home’, he tells Courfeyrac. The disappointment in his voice is almost unnoticeable. 

‘Great!’ Courf says, sounding enormously relieved. ‘See you soon!’ 

The line goes dead with a click. Jehan bites his lip and meets Montparnasse’s eye. ‘Sorry’, he says quietly. ‘I wanted to – I mean, I hoped…’ He trails off. ‘I owe them’, is all he can manage in the end. 

The look Montparnasse gives him is considering. ‘I’m not going to keep you in a cage, little bird’, he says after a moment or two. ‘You’re free to fly wherever you want.’ 

Jehan kisses him slow and sweet, just for that. 

* * *

As expected, there’s a fair amount of drama when Jehan gets home. Enjolras is clearly relieved to see that he’s alright, but still delivers a stern lecture on responsibility to others, with periodic input from Combeferre. Bahorel claps him on the shoulder and tells him that it’s good to see him; Grantaire ruffles his hair affectionately and does the same. Feuilly hugs him quickly. Marius hugs him for much longer, looking very emotional. Joly checks him over for injuries, then anxiously asks if he’s feeling suicidal. There’s even talk of a psych exam before Bossuet steps in and takes Joly away. Courfeyrac is the last to greet him, handing over Jehan’s cell phone with an elaborate bow. 

He straightens up with a frown. ‘Jehan, you look like you were dressed by a blind person. I mean, even more than you usually do.’ 

Jehan raises an eyebrow. ‘Gee, thanks’, he replies, voice dripping with sarcasm. ‘It’s really nice to see you too, Courf.’ 

Courfeyrac doesn’t even twitch. ‘Want some dinner?’ he asks. Jehan nods furiously, his stomach grumbling on cue. 

‘ _Please_ ’, he says. Courf grins. 

‘Great! Grantaire started making lasagne earlier, so that saves either of us having to cook. Oh, and Jehan?’ 

‘What?’ 

‘It’s really nice to see you.’ 

Not for the first time, Jehan thinks he’s very lucky to have his friends. 

* * *

He doesn’t see Montparnasse again for almost a week, during which time he daydreams constantly, writes seven new poems and starts about twenty more, all about Montparnasse. Surprisingly, his friends don’t even tease him that much. Jehan thinks – _hopes_ – it’s because they can see what this means to him. And maybe he’s right, because everyone certainly _seems_ relieved when Jehan announces that he’s going out with Montparnasse on Friday night. 

They get dinner at a tiny little Chinese restaurant. In between bites of duck pancake, Jehan chatters constantly about his classes and his day. Montparnasse eats in silence, rolling his eyes fondly whenever Jehan waxes a little too poetic. They share a smile over their fortune cookies – which are obtuse as ever – and it’s unexpectedly sweet, taking Jehan quite by surprise and making butterflies dance in his stomach. The feeling only grows when Montparnasse picks up the cheque. 

After dinner, they head out into the brightly-lit city, Montparnasse’s arm slung around Jehan’s shoulders again, Jehan leaning into the gesture. Montparnasse grins at that, his teeth red as blood in the glare of a neon light. He looks like a wolf; looks wild and savage and quite ready to eat Jehan for dinner. Jehan finds it even more exciting than the smile they shared over the fortune cookies. 

And when the darkness deepens and Jehan starts to shiver, Montparnasse leads him through the streets to an apartment block on the other side of town. Jehan is a little taken aback by how nice the place is. It’s nothing compared to Montparnasse’s apartment though, which is like stepping straight into the nineteen twenties. What’s more, everything is pristine. Despite the fact that the entire place is decked out in black and white, all the furnishings are spotlessly clean, and the floor shines like a mirror. It hardly looks like anyone lives there. 

Jehan hates it immediately. It’s pretty obvious that Montparnasse is very proud of this black and white art deco monstrosity, though. So he keeps quiet and listens to the stories about finding the dining room table and buying the painting that hangs in the lounge. And even if he doesn’t understand Montparnasse’s fixation with art deco, Jehan finds his passion very appealing. 

It’s about ten minutes later that Montparnasse stops talking suddenly. ‘God, I sound like a total nerd’, he says with a laugh. ‘Let’s talk about something else.’ Jehan looks at him for a long moment, then takes a step closer. 

‘We don’t have to talk’, he says carefully. ‘But only if you turn off your cell first.’ 

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone switch off their phone so fast. He grins, looking at Montparnasse through his lashes as he takes a step closer and lays his hand on Montparnasse’s chest. He pushes gently, saying, ‘The bedroom’s this way, right?’ 

A smile tugs at the corner of Montparnasse’s mouth, his expression tinged with something predatory. He nods, and Jehan smiles in return, lust-filled eyes lidded low. 

‘Lead on then’, he murmurs, sliding his hand down Montparnasse’s chest and linking their fingers together. 

The short trip to Montparnasse’s bedroom has the potential to be awkward. It’s not though; if anything, it heightens the tension between them. Jehan can feel his heart rate starting to rise even though they’re barely touching – just the thought of finally getting Montparnasse out of his clothes sets his pulse racing. Then they’re in the bedroom and Montparnasse has him crowded up against the door in seconds. One large hand cups his jaw, an insistent mouth moving against his in a kiss that’s both demanding and filthy. Jehan arches into it, his hand fisting in the back of Montparnasse’s sweater. 

They kiss for so long that Jehan starts to feel a little dizzy, blood pounding in his ears. When he finally manages to break away, he’s gasping for breath and his head is reeling. Montparnasse is long and lean and pressed against him like a second skin, body heat burning through cloth. It’s enough to make his pulse beat heavily in his veins, thudding through his body like the bass in a club and sending every drop of blood he can spare straight to his groin. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this hard in his entire life. 

‘You have no idea how good you look right now’, Montparnasse says hoarsely, hand still hot against Jehan’s jaw, pupils so dilated the iris barely shows. He’s so beautiful that it hurts. And then he says, ‘You’re absolutely fucking gorgeous’, and Jehan is just so _gone_ , desire hitting him like a two-tonne truck. 

He pushes at Montparnasse until he gets the message. Then they’re kissing again, stumbling backwards until they make it to the bed, hands frantic as they fumble with sweaters and sleeves and buttons. Jehan actually _sobs_ when he finally gets Montparnasse’s shirt off. The other boy swallows the sound hungrily, then pulls back to tug Jehan’s t-shirt over his head before diving back in for another kiss. His hands are like brands against Jehan’s bare back. 

Slowly, he pushes Jehan down on to the bed. Jehan shuffles backwards until he reaches pillows, and from there he watches Montparnasse as crawls toward him on hands and knees. He’s far more graceful than he has any right to be, and he looks so intent that Jehan feels his stomach flip. Then Montparnasse is moving over him, their skin sliding together as he trails lingering, wet kisses across Jehan’s shoulder and up his neck. 

‘I want to fuck you’, he whispers, his breath hot against Jehan’s neck. ‘Can I fuck you?’ He presses his lips to the sensitive skin just below Jehan’s ear and sucks a little, making Jehan shiver and arch up into him. Then he pulls back and says, ‘You can do whatever you want later. You can fuck me if you like – I don’t mind. I just _really_ want to fuck you right now. Is that ok?’ 

Jehan gasps and nods, then bites his lip. ‘I don’t know if I can last that long’, he admits. 

Montparnasse’s grin is _wicked_. ‘Don’t worry’, he says. ‘I’m planning to take my time with you.’ 

And he does, slowly taking Jehan to pieces with his hands and his mouth. He presses hungry kisses to the freckles on Jehan’s chest, then sets his teeth around a nipple and tugs just hard enough to make Jehan gasp. Meanwhile, his hands are busy with Jehan’s zipper, long fingers dipping teasingly beneath the waistband of the smaller boy’s briefs, only to withdraw and start divesting him of his jeans. 

The jeans prove slightly more problematic, requiring a team effort. Soon enough though, they’re puddled on the floor and Montparnasse is turning his attention back to driving Jehan out of his mind. His lips send little shocks across the sensitive skin of Jehan’s inner thighs. Then he _bites_ , and Jehan’s whole body jerks, his fingers twisting into the sheets. Montparnasse sends him a disgustingly smug look and does it again, harder. Jehan flat out _wails_ at that, the noise bursting out of his mouth before he can stop himself. It takes a moment or two to remember how to speak. 

‘Please’, he gasps at Montparnasse. ‘ _Please_.’ 

Montparnasse raises an eyebrow, then nods. ‘Ok. But only because you sing so sweetly, little bird.’ 

Jehan nods manically, eyes wild and hands frantic as he scrabbles at his briefs, shoving them down his hips. He’s in such a rush that he almost head butts Montparnasse. The other boy chuckles softly, pushes Jehan back on the bed and finishes stripping off his briefs. When he’s done, he crawls up the bed and slides his hands up Jehan’s legs, spreading them wider and wider until Jehan is totally exposed. 

‘So fucking beautiful’, Montparnasse murmurs, almost like he’s talking to himself. Then, quite casually – as if it’s nothing at all – he puts his lips around Jehan’s cock and swallows him down to the root. 

Jehan actually chokes, the breath catching in his throat and his heart battering against his ribs. On instinct, his fingers wind themselves tightly into Montparnasse’s hair. Normally he’d worry, but Montparnasse is _moaning_ around his cock and doing something utterly sinful with his tongue that completely destroys Jehan’s ability to form coherent thoughts. In the end, he settles for curling his fingers into fists and trying to remember to breathe. He comes with a cry barely five minutes later, head flung back and hands pulling hard at Montparnasse’s hair. 

He gets perhaps a quarter hour’s rest before slick fingers press into him and start stretching him wide. It’s not that long before Jehan is hard again, the post-orgasm lassitude fading fast. That doesn’t stop Montparnasse from drawing things out as cruelly as before though, sucking bright bruises on Jehan’s torso and making Jehan howl with the slow slide of his fingers. And then finally – _finally_ – they fuck, as fast and rough as if it were a race. 

Jehan’s had better sex, but not the first time. Montparnasse fucks him like he’s trying to claim him, hard and possessive with his teeth buried in Jehan’s neck. In return, Jehan leaves long scratches on his back, the press of his nails into skin making Montparnasse hiss in pleasured pain. It’s wild and animalistic and almost brutal. Jehan loves it. 

Without a doubt though, the best bit is watching Montparnasse fall apart. He comes with a choked cry, pink lips parting in a round ‘o’, eyelashes flattening against his cheeks and back arching, his dark hair falling in total disarray. The sight of him is enough to tip Jehan over the edge too. 

Afterwards, Montparnasse is surprisingly sweet and soft, sleepily curving around Jehan like a comma. A large hand lies warm on Jehan’s hip, a heavy arm slung across his waist as if to anchor him. Jehan falls asleep to the rise and fall rhythm of Montparnasse’s chest, hot breath washing against the back of his neck. 

* * *

The next morning fades in slowly, Jehan stretching languidly and yawning into the pillow. In the nearly full darkness of Montparnasse’s room he can barely see a thing. Nonetheless, once fully awake, Jehan is almost instantly aware that he’s alone. 

Groaning, he reaches for his phone. The bright light of the display shines around the numbers on his clock, making him squint and telling him that it’s 11:13am. He has three new messages; one from Courfeyrac and two from Montparnasse. Unsurprisingly, Courf’s text is full of innuendo and winking emoticons, asking how his ‘night of passion’ went. Jehan smiles and sends a quick reply, only to have the smile wiped off his face as he reads the texts from Montparnasse. 

The first was sent at 3:41am. It reads: _Something’s come up. I need to take care of it. Should be back soon_. The second text says, _Taking longer than expected. Don’t know when I’ll be back. Help yourself to breakfast_. It was sent at 7:02am. 

Jehan stares at his phone until it goes black, unsure what to think. Part of him wants to believe that Montparnasse really did have something to attend to – that he’s not just waking up alone because Montparnasse has decided this whole thing isn’t worth it. But another part of him can’t ignore the fact that waking up alone after sex is almost never a good sign. And really, who has business to deal with at half three in the morning? ( _Not any_ good _kind of business anyway_ , his brain whispers treacherously.) 

After ten minutes of turning everything over in his mind, Jehan decides he’s had enough. Muttering angrily, he disentangles himself from the bedsheets and sets off in search of the bathroom. Upon finding it, he takes the world’s longest shower, vindictively using Montparnasse’s expensive-looking bath products. Then he wraps his hair in a towel turban, throws on his sweater and heads for the kitchen. Sometime later – after thorough exploration – his stomach is grumbling and all he’s found are several varieties of coffee, two types of bread and a ridiculous amount of fruit. There’s no sign of tea or cereal anywhere, and he glares at the kitchen appliances like they’re to blame. 

The sound of a key turning in the front door startles Jehan back to reality. He squeaks, suddenly very aware of his lack of underwear. 

Montparnasse stumbles into the kitchen, looking so tired as to be barely conscious. He looks surprised to see Jehan, but the corner of his mouth quirks up as he takes in Jehan’s appearance. 

‘Little bird, did I startle you?’ he drawls. ‘Your feathers are all ruffled.’ 

Jehan blushes, but stands his ground, holding Montparnasse’s stare. ‘Of course I’m startled, he says, somewhat sharply. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you.’ 

Montparnasse nods sleepily and slides on to one of the stools at the breakfast bar. ‘Mmm, sorry. But when duty calls…’ he trails off, then yawns so widely that his jaw cracks. Jehan hates himself for finding it adorable. 

‘You need better food in your kitchen’, he tells Montparnasse. The other boy makes a vague noise of acquiescence from where he’s sprawled on the counter top, his head pillowed on his arms. In the silence that follows, it becomes evident that he’s asleep. Jehan rolls his eyes and goes to find his notebook. 

* * *

When Montparnasse wakes, he finds a piece of paper pinned to the arm of his sweater. On the paper there’s a haiku, written in looping cursive. It reads: 

_No tea leaves or bags,_

 _In your kitchen – imagine!_

 _

You owe me breakfast.

_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be around... sometime? Hopefully in the next two weeks, uni work permitting.
> 
> Feedback of any kind is super awesome/much appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a little lon,bger than anticipated and I'm sorry to anyone who's been waiting for an update, but life is really busy right now and this fic has to take a bit of a backseat as a result.
> 
> Anyway... this chapter is a little angsty and is pretty Jehan-centric. I hope you enjoy it anyway!
> 
> (Also, MASSIVE THANK YOUS to Mack for reading this over/giving me ideas/ the line of poetry. You're a star.)

Jehan gets his breakfast eventually. (‘Jehan, three days later is not _eventually_.’ ‘Shut up Courf, it’s hyperbole. It adds drama to the story.’) What’s more, it’s Danish pastries and a giant cup of chai tea – his favourite. Despite this though, the whole incident remains as something of a running joke and – much to Montparnasse’s chagrin – is brought up without fail if there aren’t suitable breakfast foods in the apartment. (In fact, Montparnasse ends up stocking a cupboard in his kitchen with Jehan-approved food. Jehan will attribute this to Montparnasse being sweet at heart, not that he dares say so in his boyfriend’s presence. By contrast, Courfeyrac will attribute it to Jehan being a high-maintenance diva, which earns him a glare and a pillow to the face.) 

Breakfast or lack thereof aside though, Jehan is pretty content. True, he rarely sees Parnasse (a shortening which Jehan starts using because ‘Montparnasse’ is a mouthful and ‘Jack’ still reminds him of Eponine) more than a couple of times a week, but that’s ok. Jehan still likes his own space, for all that he’s a romantic. And besides, between his degree and the many extracurricular activities which Enjolras has involved him in, Jehan _needs_ his space. 

Still, it’s always a pleasant surprise to walk round a corner and find Parnasse waiting for him, or to find the (likely stolen) presents Parnasse has taken to leaving in his pigeonhole. His friends think the whole thing is a little creepy, but Jehan disagrees. He likes it – likes the mystery and the ever-present hint of danger, the way the hair prickles on the back of his neck when Parnasse is watching him. In all honesty, it’s actually kind of a turn-on. So when he feels warm breath against his ear at the Amis’ Halloween party, he can’t help the shiver of anticipation that rolls across his skin. 

‘What’s a pretty little bird like you doing all by yourself?’ Parnasse murmurs, just loud enough to be heard over the music blaring from the next room. 

‘I’m waiting for someone’, Jehan replies lightly. 

‘Oh yes?’ The question is casual, but there’s a hint of steel behind it that makes something spark low in Jehan’s belly. 

He nods slowly, wanting to draw this out. ‘My boyfriend. He told me he’d find me when he got here.’ 

A hint of a satisfied chuckle, then, ‘And what’s this boyfriend of yours going to do when he gets here then?’ 

Jehan shrugs. ‘I don’t know. Whatever he wants, I guess.’ 

There’s a pause. ‘Is that so?’ Jehan nods. ‘Hmm. How interesting.’ Two knuckles graze against the bare skin of his shoulder and Jehan shivers again. ‘So, this boyfriend of yours… what does he like to do?’ 

Jehan shrugs again, trying to keep his voice steady as he says, ‘He likes to fuck me. Likes to hear me. Likes to make me beg.’ 

Another pause. ‘And do you like that? Do you like it when he fucks you? Does it make you moan to feel him inside you?’ Jehan’s breath stutters in his chest and he’s hard, _god_ , he’s aching, making such a tent of his tunic that he’s surprised everyone’s not staring. 

‘Yes’, he says. ‘ _Yes_.’ 

‘Do you want that now?’ 

‘ _Yes_ , oh god, _yes_.’ 

‘Tell me. Tell me how much you want it.’ 

‘I want – I want your cock in me, want to feel you, want you to touch me, make me come.’ Jehan sucks in a shaky breath and continues. ‘And I want to suck you until you can’t stand. Can I do that? _Please_?’ 

Parnasse’s voice is rough as he asks, ‘Where’s your room?’ and Jehan takes that as a yes. He fumbles for Parnasse’s hand, then drags him through the crowds of people and up the stairs. Anticipation and arousal have his heart battering against his ribs, and his top floor room seems much too far away all of a sudden. It’s only the thought of privacy and a bed that keeps him from jumping Parnasse on the stairs. 

They get there in the end though, even if it does feel like it takes an eternity. And within seconds of the door shutting behind them, they’re sharing a desperate kiss, hands fumbling at each other’s costumes. Jehan doesn’t even really know what Parnasse was dressed as. He doesn’t much care to be honest, just as the destruction of his own carefully made nymph costume (green tunic made out of an old bed sheet, a coronet of plastic flowers in his hair, and a beautiful mask (painted by Feuilly) over his face) is forgotten. Parnasse’s fingers press into Jehan’s skin, smudging the winding green vines Grantaire carefully painted earlier that evening, his touch leaving fire in its wake. Jehan feels like he’s being burnt up from the inside out, a feverish need racing through his veins. He loves every moment of it. 

They do make it to the bed. Eventually. 

* * *

Courfeyrac frowns. ‘So your boyfriend was here this morning, but he didn’t stay to meet any of us?’ Jehan frowns back at him. 

‘And? We’ve been dating less than a month and there’re a lot of you – it’s not exactly surprising that he didn’t feel like sticking around to play twenty questions.’ He shrugs. ‘Besides, he had stuff to do.’ 

‘What kind of stuff?’ 

Jehan shrugs. ‘I don’t know, Courf. Stuff kind of stuff.’ 

‘You mean you didn’t ask?’ Combeferre says from the other corner of the kitchen, looking over the paper and the top of his glasses. Jehan rolls his eyes. 

‘No, I didn’t ask – I’m his boyfriend, not his _mother_. What’s the big deal anyway?’ 

Combeferre gives him a stern look. ‘We don’t know a lot about this guy, except that he used to be involved with Eponine and her… lifestyle. We’re just trying to look out for you, that’s all.’ 

‘We don’t want you getting hurt’, Courf adds softly. 

Jehan sighs. ‘I appreciate your concern’, he tells them. ‘But I’d like it if you backed off a little bit, ok? Things with me and Parnasse are good – _great_ , actually – and I like him a lot. I’m… I’m really happy. And I’d like you to respect that.’ 

Courfeyrac and Combeferre share a silent look, then nod in tandem. 

‘Ok’, Courfeyrac says. ‘Just… be careful. Please?’ 

Jehan nods in return, biting back the remark that threatens to slip off his tongue: _maybe I don’t want to be careful_. 

* * *

The next few weeks pass in the blink of an eye and Thanksgiving is upon them before they know it. Jehan takes the tickets his parents offer and flies home to Connecticut. He’s well aware that he’s going to get a lecture from Enjolras after the holiday, but it’s worth it even if it is _freezing_ when he gets there. In fact, his only regret about the whole thing is that he won’t see Parnasse. 

‘You wouldn’t see me anyway’, Parnasse says that evening, his voice sounding smaller on the phone than it does in real life. ‘I’ve got better things to do than waste a load of money on one meal and pretend to be thankful for stuff.’ Even though Jehan _knows_ it’s stupid and irrational to be hurt, but he is. He droops a little. 

‘Well I guess it’s a good thing I’m not there then’, he says, trying for light-hearted and ending up just sounding bitter. 

‘I didn’t mean it like that’, Parnasse snaps back. Then he sighs. ‘I didn’t mean it like that’, he repeats, much softer than before. ‘Little bird, it’s nothing to do with you. Thanksgiving’s just not my thing, that’s all.’ And Jehan wants to argue that Thanksgiving is _everybody’s_ thing, but something in Parnasse’s voice stops him. So he changes the subject to what they’re going to do when he gets back (because persuading Parnasse that hanging out is something normal couples do is always tricky) and doesn’t bring Thanksgiving up again. 

Later though, when Jehan is lying in bed trying (and failing) to sleep, his mind goes back to what Parnasse said. Although he’s sure that Parnasse was telling the truth – despite his silver tongue, he’s not known for his insincerity – the conversation still bothers him. Mainly, he just doesn’t get how anyone could not like Thanksgiving. Sure, he’s well aware that he’s more fortunate than a lot of people, but he doesn’t think he’s ever met _anyone_ who doesn’t do Thanksgiving before. And that makes him wonder just why it is that Parnasse doesn’t; wonder what could possibly have happened in his life to make him feel that way. 

On the heels of this unpleasant thought comes an unsettling realisation: he doesn’t actually know that much about Parnasse. Actually, he barely knows _anything_ about Parnasse. They’ve been together for over a month and a half now and Jehan doesn’t even know what Parnasse studies, or if he studies at all. In fact, when he thinks about it, he’s not sure that he _knows_ anything, period. He’s _assumed_ stuff (Parnasse is a student, Parnasse has money, Parnasse has a family out there somewhere) but he doesn’t have any proof. 

The clock on his nightstand says it’s one am. Jehan sighs. Then he sits up, puts on his lamp and grabs the notebook he always keeps beside his bed. Flipping open to a blank page, he starts to make a list. It’s called, ‘Things I _know_ about Jack Montparnasse’, and it doesn’t take him long. It looks like this: 

1\. He was (?still is) at college. He stole library books in freshman year and he’s still banned. 

2\. He knows Eponine. They were involved at some point. They had sex in a bathroom at the ‘back to school’ party. 

3\. He steals things. 

4\. He drinks his coffee black in public, but he takes it with sugar and cream and flavoured syrup when he’s at home. 

5\. He _really_ likes sex. 

6\. He also _really_ likes Art Deco. 

7\. He’s kind of (ok, _enormously_ ) vain. 

8\. He smokes Sobranie Blacks. 

9\. The food in his flat is _not_ suitable breakfast. 

And that’s it. That’s the sum total of the Parnasse-related knowledge which Jehan can back up evidence. Everything is unsupported or assumed. A comment of Combeferre’s about not knowing Parnasse, made weeks ago (the morning after Halloween, now he thinks about it), springs to mind. Jehan shivers, feeling disquieted. 

Then he frowns and shakes himself. ‘This never bothered you before’, he says out loud. ‘And it shouldn’t bother you now. So stop worrying.’ He shuts the notebook with a decisive _snap_ , swaps it for a well-worn copy of T.H. White’s _The Once And Future King_ , and settles down to read. He falls asleep with his fingers between its pages. 

* * *

Unfortunately, the sense of unease lingers throughout the weekend, and it mutates with time until Jehan starts doubting himself too. _Is it me?_ he wonders. _Have I done something to make him think he can’t trust me? Am I just untrustworthy?_ But that doesn’t make sense, because he’s so open about himself, answering almost any question levelled at him, and volunteering information about himself without even being asked. _Is_ that _it?_ he asks himself. _Am I so busy talking about myself that I haven’t given him the chance to say anything?_ But that doesn’t make sense either, because Parnasse isn’t the type to sit in silence and let someone walk over him. 

All in all, Jehan has worked himself into quite the tizzy by the time Thanksgiving dawns. He tries to write a poem about how he’s feeling, but his pen presses too hard against the paper, the nib spluttering ink and the words ruined. When he goes downstairs for breakfast, his mother gives him a concerned look. 

‘Are you alright, _chéri_?’ she asks. He shrugs in answer and her brows draw together. Delicately, she sets down her cup and saucer and comes over to him, her small hands warm as they settle against his cheeks. She tilts his head up and clucks her tongue anxiously. ‘ _Mon pauvre_ Jehan, look at those dark circles! It’s like you haven’t slept in a week!’ She shakes her head. ‘What’s wrong?’ 

Jehan shrugs again. ‘ _C’est rien_ ’, he says, unconsciously slipping into French – a common occurrence when at home. His mother clucks her tongue again, more sharply this time. 

‘None of that, _‘c’est rien’_ , bullshit, _chéri_. Tell me what’s the matter, mmm? Is that boy of yours?’ The last question takes Jehan by surprise – his sexuality isn’t often discussed at home – and he blinks stupidly for a second or two. Then he nods. His mother sighs sadly, dropping her hands from his face to wind her fingers through his. ‘Oh _Jehan_ , I’m so sorry. _C’est sérieux_?’ 

Jehan’s mouth twists. ‘ _Je ne sais pas, Maman_ ’, he says softly. He opens his mouth to speak again, but there’s an aching lump in his throat and his eyes are prickly and hot. In an instant, his mother’s arms are around him, the soft cashmere of her sweater against his cheek as he begins to cry. He wraps his arms around her waist and clings to her, his breath catching in his chest as she runs her fingers through his hair, murmuring gentle words of comfort. It seems like a very long time before the tears run out. 

‘Do you feel any better, _chaton_?’ his mother asks as he dries his eyes. Strangely he does, and he nods. She smiles. ‘ _Bon_. Now, do want to give me a hand with these pancakes?’ 

Nothing more is said about problems or boys, except for a moment (mid-pancake making) when she fixes him with a look and says, ‘Love is hard work, you know. They don’t tell you that, but it is. You just have to try and figure out whether the hard work is balanced out by happiness.’ Jehan thinks – not for the first time – that his mother is very wise. 

And later, when he reads Parnasse’s text (‘If I’m thankful for anything, little bird, it’s you.’) and feels a burst of warmth blossoming in his chest, he decides that if anything’s worth the work, it’s this. 

* * *

Going back to college is more bittersweet than usual, and Jehan feels discontented as he boards the plane. He’s restless in his seat throughout take-off and continues to fidget once the plane is in the air, feeling caged. It’s only by watching the other passengers that he manages to calm himself down. 

He feels a good deal more settled after an hour or two. The elderly couple in the next row are talking about their grandchildren and he smiles, because they look at each other like they’ve won the greatest prize on earth. A line of poetry unwinds in his head ( _eyes tired of seeing and legs tired of walking, but hands still holding and hearts still loving_ ) and he reaches for his notebook, planning to jot it down and maybe develop it into something bigger if he can. The ink splattered page stops him in his tracks. 

His poem from the other day is incomplete, but even taking that into consideration, it’s still lacking. His phrases seem fractured, the words jarring. Just reading it is enough to make Jehan’s stomach knot uncomfortably. The list on the page before it only makes things worse. 

He stares at the looping curves of his handwriting for a long time, the elderly couple totally forgotten and the world around him far distant. He’s so lost in contemplation that when a stewardess comes to offer refreshments, he jumps in his seat, badly startled. She apologises profusely, even though he assures her it’s alright – if anything, he’s relieved to have been drawn out of his thoughts. Once she moves on to the other passengers, he rips the pages out the notebook with barely a moment’s hesitation. He looks them over for scant seconds before ripping them in half and shoving them into the seat pocket in front of him. It’s not much, but it does make him feel a little better. 

After that, he decides he might as well snatch a few hours' sleep. 

* * *

Courfeyrac’s face is a welcome sight when Jehan steps out of the airport into the cold night air. The big hug he bestows upon the poet is even better. Jehan leans into him with a sigh, relishing his warmth and only _slightly_ wishing that he was Parnasse. 

‘Thanks for picking me up’, he says as he gets into the car. ‘I appreciate it.’ 

Courf shoots him an easy smile. ‘It’s nothing’, he says. ‘Although Enj is probably going to be mad that you’re not contributing to the economy by taking a taxi.’ 

Jehan snorts. ‘Of course he is. Has he said anything about me flying back home yet?’ Courfeyrac’s only answer is to start chuckling. Jehan rolls his eyes. ‘Great – another thing to look forward to.’ 

Courfeyrac carries on chuckling. ‘Come on Jehan, you make it sound like coming back is some kind of trial, but one lecture from Enjolras is hardly the end of the world.’ He pauses, glancing across at Jehan. ‘Is everything ok? Did something happen at home? Or is something to do with Montparnasse? Is that why he didn’t pick you up today?’ 

‘Courf, enough with the questions!’ Courfeyrac falls silent and Jehan gives a relieved sigh. ‘Everything's fine. Nothing happened at home and nothing’s happened with me and Parnasse.’ 

‘So how come he didn’t pick you up?’ Courf asks. Jehan shrugs. 

‘I didn’t ask him to.’ 

‘He still could have picked you up’, Courf mutters, sounding unimpressed. Jehan scowls. 

‘No he couldn’t have, because I didn’t tell him when my plane got in, ok?’ He sighs again. ‘Look, I didn’t want to make him feel like he had to come pick me up. And I don’t know if he has a car, or even if he drives.’ 

Silence falls for a moment or two. Then Courfeyrac asks, ‘Are you _sure_ everything’s ok with you guys?’ 

‘Yes I’m _sure_ ’, Jehan snaps. He bites his lip, softening. ‘I just miss him’, he says finally. ‘Now can we talk about something else?’ 

Courf nods. ‘Yeah. Yeah, sure.’ He spends the rest of the ride home talking about what happened at the frat house over Thanksgiving weekend, and Jehan is grateful for the change of subject. 

* * *

It is nice to push open the front door of the frat house and hear the sound of all his friends’ voices. Jehan drops his bag with a happy sigh, planning to head straight for the kitchen in search of leftovers when Enjolras calls from the lounge. 

‘Jehan, come in here.’ 

‘Best to get it over with now’, Courf whispers. Jehan rolls his eyes, but heads into the lounge anyway. Then he stops in his tracks. 

Parnasse is sitting on the couch, chatting to Grantaire and Bahorel with legs out-stretched and an air of complete unconcern. He doesn’t stop talking when Jehan comes in, but glances up and sends him a smirk that Jehan sees straight through. 

‘What are you doing here?’ he asks, curious. Parnasse shrugs. 

‘I figured it was time I met your friends’, he says. ‘Grantaire told me tonight was a good time.’ He doesn’t say ‘I wanted to see you’, but it doesn’t matter; Jehan’s a lot better at translating Parnasse’s silences these days. 

Jehan nods slowly. ‘That’s cool’, he says. ‘What’ve you guys been talking about?’ 

‘Montparnasse has been telling us about himself and his plans to become an architect’, Enjolras says. Then he fixes Jehan with a stern look. ‘That does _not_ mean I’ve forgotten the fact that you’ve been travelling with one of the most extortionately over-priced airlines in the country.’ From previous experience, Jehan knows this is the start of a Very Long Lecture. And despite the fact he’d fully intended to suffer through it, he suddenly finds that he doesn’t want to. 

‘I know. Can we talk about this tomorrow, though? I’m really tired from the flight and I want to go to bed. Ok, great. Night everyone!’ Then he stands up, walks over to Parnasse, grabs his hand and pulls him off the sofa without a backwards glance. 

‘You know, I don’t think that supreme leader of yours is very happy with you’, Parnasse drawls as they head upstairs. 

‘I don’t care’, Jehan says. ‘I’m tired and I’m not in the mood to be told how I’m supporting the oppression of the lower classes.’ 

‘If you’re so tired, are you sure you want me here?’ 

Jehan stops and stares at Parnasse, still surprised that he doesn’t get it after all this time. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ he asks eventually. ‘I want to spend time with you. I missed you this weekend.’ 

The corner of Parnasse’s lips lift in the most minute of smiles. ‘It was weird without you, I guess’, he says. And although that might not seem like a lot, Jehan knows different. Smiling, he stretches up and steals a kiss. 

‘Want to make everyone really uncomfortable by having really loud sex?’ he whispers as they break apart. Parnasse’s sly grin is all the answer he needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> French translations: chéri = darling, mon pauvre = my poor, c'est rien = it's nothing, c'est sérieux = it's serious, je ne sais pas, maman = I don't know, Mummy, chaton = kitten, bon = good (My headcanon is that Jehan's mother is a French heiress who married a wealthy into an old American family and that all the Prouvaire-Brooke children speak fluent French.) (Also, thanks to my lovely French reader for pointing out my mistakes.)
> 
> Again, the next update will probably take a couple of weeks. Apologies in advance.
> 
> Feedback is always welcome!


End file.
